


if i must be a sinner don't let me burn alone

by mjolnirdork



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers, Tin Can Brothers RPF
Genre: Agent Curt Mega Has ADHD, Barb has two seconds of screentime here, Community: Spies Are Forever Discord, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, and he also has a panic attack, is this me projecting yes, some soft, tin can brothers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:08:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24914368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjolnirdork/pseuds/mjolnirdork
Summary: what if mama mega found out about curt and wasn't very sensitive about it? what if curt got a panic attack? what if owen was there?(i'm angsty i know)
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 10
Kudos: 124





	if i must be a sinner don't let me burn alone

“Curtis, sweetie? It’s your mother.”

Curt Mega, special agent of the CIA, is in Copenhagen, about to infiltrate a mafia ring for blueprints to some nuclear bomb, and his mother is calling his burner phone-watch. That is not a sentence anyone wants to hear, especially him. 

He checks his weapons for the umpteenth time, lifting his watch to his face. “Can it wait? I have to rendezvous in 15.”  
“Well, I-- I suppose, but Curtis, sweetie, I have to ask you something real important.” Her voice crackles over the invisible line, and Curt doesn’t think much of the odd tremble in her tone, so he sits on the bed of his meager hotel room and nods.  
“Fire away.”  
“Honey, do you like men?”

No.  
No.  
No.

God, heaven, and possibly Satan, please, no.

“What makes you say that?” Curt replies smoothly, too smoothly for someone whose breathing has quickly become shallow, chest tight, mind numb, heart racing, please, no, no, not right now, not with a literal gunfight awaiting him, not with Cynthia's direct orders to not fuck this up, not with the stakes against him, not with the regulations, he can't think, please no--

“I’ve just been thinking of how you, you.. You. You’ve never really talked to girls, God, you can’t even flirt with ‘em. And here you are with all these guys around palling it up, and there’s your Brit, and, oh, Curt, is it true? Am I just badoozling the both of us?”

There’s a fear in his mother’s voice, there’s a concern that screams “how could you” that Curt has no clue how to process.

"And I see you-- I see you, and you've left clothes here that I know ain't yours, I do your laundry, and well, if they aren't my boy's, then I guess they're some boy's, and... Curtis, I need you to answer me and say it isn't so."

Curt's jaw is trembling, he curses himself. "Mom... I..."

There's silence. The only motion being made on end is his entire body just shaking.  
Wonderful timing. Absolutely wonderful.

"So it is." The resigned finality on the other end forces Curt to speak, to say something, to move, dammit.  
"Mom, why now?"  
"When were you gonna tell me?"  
"That's... that's private information."  
"Yeah, don't you think God sees?" There's a momentary pause. "Aw, sweetie, I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry.” 

Curt's been taught to evade questioning before. He's a fucking spy, he knows how to get out of things that could incriminate him. But when that thing is who he is? When it's his own mother? What training could anyone have for that? "W-what are you gonna do?" He looks anxiously at his watch, his own voice sounding fainter and higher. Ten minutes. This is bad, this is really, really bad.

"Well, of course I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I must've screwed up really bad! I didn't show you what a good relationship looks like-- your dad leaving-- oh God, I didn't realize how I could've made you such a f--"  
She didn't have to cut herself off for Curt to finish the word for her, and it stings worse than an actual bullet through his skin, and he's experienced that more times than he can count.

"Mom."  
"I hope you always know I'll love you, of course I will, you're my boy and I'm awful proud of you but... but I ca- I can't... We need to talk about everything when you get back, 'cause.."  
"Mom."  
"Oh jinkies, what's everyone at temple gonna say? I can't lie about you waiting for the right one when you aren't even--"  
"MOM." 

The last line breaks him and he tries taking big breaths, big, calm down, there we go, no-- his fucking mission--  
"Please don't tell anyone. Please."  
"But Curt!"  
"But nothing!" Curt doesn't have to go far to think about how much would be ruined by those words: his job, everyone knowing, eve-- Owen. Owen. Owen would be fired or worse, and as for himself, God knows what the people above Cynthia would let her do to him. "Please. Mom, that's not... that's not your information to give."  
"I understand that everyone goes through phases, hell, I did, but that doesn't mean we can just do whatever we want, the world ain't shaped that way--"

Five minutes.

"I have to go," Curt finishes in a harried voice, ending the call before his mother can say anymore, can condemn him anymore, can keep talking, can see, can know, oh God. He snaps his eyes shut and feels his hands flapping uncontrollably, the world suddenly caving in on him, and the worst crashing of emotions to invade and attack his apparently cursed soul.

His mom knows.  
His mom thinks of him like that.  
He has no one.

Curt doesn't know what to do, but then the minutes dwindle by, and he has no choice, no choice at all, but to grab his gun, walk out the door, and finish the mission as straight as he possibly can.

Even that seems impossible.

"Well done on acquiring the information, Mega," Barb informs him over his watch-- good, sweet, horrible Barb. The one his mother would probably be thrilled if-- ah, fuck, not again.  
Curt's feet clench up inside his hard leather shoes and he wants to rock til he can't feel anymore. "Th-thanks."  
"Did you manage to find out the location of the next prototypes?"  
"W-What?" His chest is crying.  
"The prototypes? For the bomb? That-- Curt?"

Her voice is fading, spinning, mixing with sounds of "I love you" and "is it true" and "but you're a f--" and it's too much, it's too much, it's too much all at once.  
Curt finally does what he should've done in the beginning.  
He hangs up and runs for shelter.

He doesn't remember the path he took, or what he brought and left behind, or how quickly he cleared out his hotel room, Curt doesn't remember not picking up his mother's follow up calls, or Barb's, or any of them. He feels like drowning in his own mind and the hurt, the hurt, the pain, the-- him. Fucking f-- him. The only thing that's in his mind is the distant safehouse placed here for him and Owen, ages ago.

Owen. The thought makes him want to drop to the ground.  
But he has to keep going. Owen's in London. Safe. Not stupid. Not alone. Like how Curt is right now.

It is night. Streetlights provide the faintest of light to walk by. Every step Curt takes is one he regrets, until an alley and a door away, he pulls up a key on a piece of chain around his neck, and slides it into the lock. At least this place is empty enough to let him crash and burn alone. Curt stumbles inside, letting sobs wrack through his chest.

"Love?"

Curt looks up, gasping for hair, his body shaking, cries echoing through the soundproof walls.

"Owe?"

Owen Carvour has flicked a switch on, warm brown eyes staring at Curt's broken self on the matted carpet. "What on earth are you doing here?"

God. 

Curt heaves, and before he knows it he has just enough power to stand up, run, and crash into Owen's arms, which open without hesitation. They fall onto the floor, clinging to each other in hasty affection, and finally, Curt breaks down, not that he hasn't been doing so since the phone call.

"I- I'm here, love, I'm right here, I'm not leaving," Owen whispers, shifting them both to a slightly more comfortable position so he can hold Curt for however long he needs to. "What happened, love?"

Curt doesn't respond, he just continues to shake, but one of his hands locks with one of Owen's and he squeezes it twice. Owen grips it in return; it's been their sign for whenever either of them are unable to communicate. Curt hates himself for using it, but his mind can literally not take anything else but Owen, Owen, Owen's arms around his, the scent of sharp cologne, his lean frame against Curt, and everything else seems torturous to think about without him. 

They rock back and forth like that for what feels like forever, Owen's breathing calming his down. "Curt, would it help if I kissed you?" Owen whispers, running his hands through Curt's hair. 

Curt lifts his head and nods. He doesn't have any other words, just leans into the warm rush of Owen's lips on his. They're soft, they're firm, they're gentle and they taste like smoke and toast with butter on it, black coffee and stolen dessert, and for a moment he can breathe. When Owen pulls away Curt swears there's whole worlds in his irises.

"You're not... you're not supposed to be here," Curt mumbles, the first words he's able to summon to his tongue.  
Owen presses soft kisses everywhere, talking as he pulls away. "Mission went south. I had to clear off. Have a week or so. But I didn't expect you to be here-- MI6 didn't tell me."  
"I guess it doesn't matter since we were on different cases." Curt buries himself into as much of Owen as possible, trying to find silence in his mind.

"Mom knows," Curt manages to let out.

If Owen stiffens a little, he does a good job of not showing it. "Oh, Curt."

"I'm sorry-- I thought we were safe, I thought I-- fuck, I've fucked all of this up--"  
"No, no you haven't." Owen tugs Curt's slumped over body to match his own, cupping Curt's cheek with his other hand. "It was inevitable, love, that's alright, there's nothing either of us could've done."  
"Could've been carefuller, could've been safer, could've... been straighter."  
Curt wasn't trying to be funny, but Owen's laugh rumbles through his chest, and the sensation is light on the ears. 

"I'm sorry, darling, that's one thing not even you could do." Owen smiles in the darkness. "I really wouldn't want you to be anyway."  
Curt lets a smile exist on his face for a moment, before replacing it with a face that's worn and freshly cried. "I... I wish I was. At least it would keep you safe, and-- I'm just so stupid. So.." he ends up shaking again, and the pain flows back in to render him grieving. "Cynthia. Our jobs. They're gonna kill us."

He shakes, breaking down again, and Owen just holds him, grounding him with gentle arms. "Not if we kill them first," Owen mumbles in a far-away voice Curt barely hears, before covering for it in a louder whisper, "then I die with you."

Curt presses his head against Owen's chest. "You don't mean that. You have a whole life ahead of you. I can't fuck that up. Not like my dad--"  
"My life... you're my life. I'm not your bastard of a father," Owen retorts, tilting Curt's head so they can lock eyes. "I'm not leaving. Okay? I'm not leaving." He smooths a strand of Curt's hair down, and Curt melts.  
"Okay." He can't believe it right now, but he doesn't have to. Owen's here. That's all the belief he needs.

The sky begins to look like morning by the time they move from the floor to the bedroom, Owen gently tugging Curt's suit off and helping him collapse into the bed, following along and leaning into him.

"Can-- can you do the thing, Owen?" Curt mumbles, half-asleep, half calmed down, wholly and utterly clinging to his partner.  
"What thing?"  
"Th-- the, you know, the thing?"  
"What. thing." Owen looks mildly amused in the last of the moonlight as Curt tries to explain.  
"Do the thing." He gestures sleepily, head knocking back against a pillow.  
"This?"  
Owen grins.  
Curt melts once more. "That thing." 

No, no, his mom is wrong. Perhaps he's everything she fears, perhaps he lives in sinful rebellion of the nature of everything good, but this-- this-- Owen? Owen is everything right. And good. 

"I love you so much" are Curt's last words before letting his eyes shut with tiredness.  
And right before his mind finally quiets, Owen's words settle themselves into his heart.

"Curt Mega, I'd walk into hell to bring you back."

**Author's Note:**

> anyway shout out to the saf discord for dealing with my sad projected agnst, you all are the best and i love you, thanks to @IneffableInsomniac for beta-ing
> 
> if you would like to cry in the comments i will cry with you


End file.
